for want of another
by Cee-face
Summary: When love and war are one in the same. -England/China, fluff sort of.-


There were truths between them that neither dared to say. Mines dotting what looked like naught but an empty field. They were there, just hidden, and each waited unassumingly for someone to come along and detonate it, be it by a clumsy step or a well-placed, dummied-out decoy.

So they fired over the suicidal no man's land with words, shot with piercing precision at one another, so as to best avoid the dangerous truths buried beneath the ground.

But over decades, ammunition got stretched a little thin. Eventually, one would have to step up, take the dive. Without their bullets, after all, they had no contact.

And they couldn't very well remain so starved from one another for too long.

"I love you."

Explosions. One, two, three. And he was still intact, so hell, while he was taking this snowball's chance, why not run with it the whole way?

"I love you." He still had all of his limbs, barreling over another powder-keg trio, so he went on, surging forward, "Even Shakespeare would lose himself to silent awe were he ever able to fathom how much I adore you- you are _radiant_, powerful, the most bull-headed, stubborn sort of proud I have ever seen, and you are more to die for than your silks or your tea any day." He hadn't stuttered, but only because his speed did not grant him time to do so, the only thing preventing him from tripping being the momentum in his desperate run. "I love you."

Was the field clear yet?

Molten gold stared up at him in humbled shock, heavy with the crushing perspective and feeling of smallness that came with seeing a conflagrating disaster unfold in front of your eyes. The other opened his mouth, a proverbial toe hovering over the no man's land, finally touching down with a quiet, "What?"

"I know your hearing is just as keen as it was millennia ago. You-" He stumbled, struck with a flash of fear that perhaps he would fall onto a mine and that would be the end of it. "You heard what I said."

The elder swallowed, face blank with awe as motor functions became secondary to trying to process what he was hearing. "…you're joking, aru," he tried weakly, the last round left in his rifle.

The kingdom took in a breath like he had been bracing himself for that. His eyes darted briefly away, hued with a desperate want to avert his gaze, but they were courageous the next moment, shakily homed in on the Oriental's face. "I'm not laughing, am I?" he queried, much quieter this time.

"England," said the shorter man softly, enough to push the island's line of sight away from him. His eyes searched the European, his mouth slightly ajar and occasionally letting out troubled breaths that sounded like fractions of sighs. He pursed his lips closed and moved himself a few steps nearer to his tense companion. You could never be certain that all the mines had gone off.

He unsteadily raised his hands. His shaky fingers were level with England's collarbone when he stopped, gaze searching again, this time looking along the distressed profile of the blond's face. He saw the former empire chewing his bottom lip, the angle of his generous eyebrows, the uncertainty veiled beneath that shining green.

China released his opposition in a sigh and let his fingertips rest along England's jaw line. As the larger nation turned his head, the thin fingers worked higher until they cupped England's face, the thumbs laving gentle strokes along the cheekbones just beneath England's eyes. The Middle Kingdom scoured with his eons-old vision, every twitch from the vulnerable, jaded country paving the way to slow understanding.

"I love you," England repeated in a venturous whisper.

China breathed a disbelieving laugh at the shape of a figure, totally unharmed, emerging from the ruthless destruction of those explosive truths. "I love you too, aru," he confessed just as quietly. His voice held that humbled smallness, and gratitude that _one _of them had finally mustered the courage be the first to chance crossing that perilous distance.

Because they had both seen that destruction. Both rushed wantonly across it to reach the other side, unmindful of the dangers. Both blinded by the possibilities in the distance, blurred and truly imperceptible beyond the dust in the air.

They had both been hurt - the elder of the two bearing the evidence in a sense that transcended metaphorical. So they had both promised never to get close again, to allow themselves the bitter comfort of being surrounded by unapproachable wastelands of distance dotted with explosives.

And, for once, as China raised himself onto his toes and England bowed his head for their lips to meet in the middle, China was glad that England had broken a promise.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:** blargh, this has been sitting unfinished on my hard drive for an ever. i only just recently beat myself into finishing it now that i've got the England/China inspiration again. i am sorry for cliche and yucky dialogue, for such a long wait ): i like the metaphor and prose in this more than the actual, like...actions and what is going on, so, uh, yeah. it is really just a rather plain white cake, only decorated kind of extravagantly. crossposted to the kouchagumi comm.


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